


burn marks

by burstaffinity



Category: Kirby (Video Games)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:09:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26443228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burstaffinity/pseuds/burstaffinity
Summary: when aren't you thinking of me?
Relationships: Flamberge/Francisca
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	burn marks

Flamberge’s body still bears the marks of her death.

Lord Hyness couldn’t stop apologizing when he saw them. Flamberge was the last girl he saved. He should have perfected the ritual after performing it twice; in fact, neither of the girls who he had saved bore any scars. So he _must_ have perfected it. But Flamberge had burns on her face, her arms, her legs. Francisca remembers how utterly apologetic he was, how he looked at her with guilt that still struck him as he fell into madness. Surely he would be struck with the same old guilt whenever he came to their housewarming.

Flamberge walks around their new home in shorts and a tank top, many of her burns in full view. She flits from one task to another, emptying boxes full of the good memories they salvaged from their bitter past. “Hey, remember this?” she asks, holding up some stone she found on one of the various planets she visited. Francisca did indeed remember it; Flamberge had bought it back to the base and said it reminded her of Francisca. 

“When are you not thinking of me?” Francisca had asked, and not for the first time. A little bit later Flamberge would ask the same of Francisca, who had returned with something that made her think of Flamberge. The truth was that if they could hold the whole universe in their hands and offer it as a gift, they would, because they were always thinking of each other. And now they had a home to share and a new mission to live for themselves, as decreed by Lord Hyness. They wouldn’t have to spend long days apart wishing they were together. They could just _be_ together. 

Flamberge was alight with plans. She had forged an itinerary full of the excursions they lacked time to do in the cult. Francisca had laughed, once, in the midst of Flamberge unveiling a new list of plans, asking “Will we ever have any time to spend at home?” 

The question caught Flamberge off-guard. Then she said, casually, “Home’s wherever you are--so yeah!”

Francisca sits where perhaps a couch will be as she watches Flamberge dash about the house. She’s worn out. She never had the same amount of energy that the other two did. Flamberge remains unbothered, gliding across the floor, her arms full of various nicknacks, utensils, cushions, whatever she could pull from a box and place somewhere in the home they’d been dreaming of. She’s never been more graceful. She’s never been more _beautiful_ , burn marks and all. 

Her body may still bear the marks of her death, but it’s animated with joy for the life that she lives.


End file.
